


Sketch the Path We Follow

by GrimmWoods



Series: Sketching the Path [1]
Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Artists, Blood and Injury, Creepy Fluff, Forests, Gen, OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25565203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimmWoods/pseuds/GrimmWoods
Summary: Skyeler Blackwyd, "Skye", is a young adult who loves to sketch his surroundings, nightmares, and anything else he finds even vaguely interesting. He has lived in the little town of Twin-Oak Rivers for a little over a month now when he finally decides to start exploring it in an episode of insomniac black-out and comes across an abandoned building. His artistic nature gets the better of him as he ventures inside to find intriguing things for sketching later.
Series: Sketching the Path [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852678
Kudos: 2





	Sketch the Path We Follow

Skye couldn’t remember a day when it wasn’t raining upon moving to Twin-Oaks River, a small town located in Canada, somewhere near Montreal and the middle of nowhere. He quite enjoyed the rain though, the overcast skies shades of many names of grey, slate, argentine grey, ash, achromatic. Then the soft pitter patter of raindrops hitting the tin roof of his small cabin, occasional rivulets dribbling down the panes of glass as the wind shifts, directing the hydrogen oxygen mixture around.  
It wasn’t too bad, he mused to himself, it gave him inspiration to sketch the way the trees swayed and bow to the mighty force of nature. His pencil sharply moving across the pad of paper on his lap, hunched over sketching his latest obsession. A still-life of the view outside the window he’s sitting in front of, the trees as they waved in the wind, the smaller details of the drops of water against the window. 

He could feel another yawn coming on, starting in the back of his jaws and slowly forcing them open, eyes burning as tears faintly pricked in them, his pencil stopping as he let the yawn overtake him. As soon as it passed, he went right back to sketching. He was always sketching, something no one else seemed to quite understand. He just had to; it was the only meaning he could see to occupy his time.  
Not even sleep could deter the boy, as he always stayed up for as long as he could just to sketch out the ideas in his head, too afraid to lose them due to sleep. He was once told by an acquaintance long ago that lack of sleep was unhealthy, though he always seemed just fine to himself, so it couldn’t be that bad he assumed. 

He found another yawn threatening to surface, electing to bite his tongue instead. Pain, also, was something he didn’t quite understand. To Skye it was as much of a nuisance as sleep was. Just a human response to something, that’s all it was perceived to him as. 

“Alright,” He said aloud to no one in particular. “I’ll take a break,” He continued, setting down the pad and pencil before standing.  
The young artist stretched, popping his back a couple times before he walked towards the kitchen, craving the sharp, sour taste of lemon. Lemons were such happy fruit in his opinion, a warm happy color and sharp in taste.

He hummed to himself, entering the little tiny kitchen area and opened the fridge. He had an entire drawer dedicated to lemons. Said drawer was tugged open sharply, two lemons being extracted before being shut and the fridge door was once again shut. 

He sat on the metal folding chair, slowly digging his fingernails into the rind of the lemon, peeling away the skin to get to the flesh of it. He closed his eyes as he popped a piece into his mouth, savoring it, chewing thoughtfully as he imagined bright bursts of yellow appearing in his mind. Even the word yellow brought the taste of lemon to his mouth.  
As he finished one, his fingers made quick work of the next, quickly eating that one as well. His attention was soon turned towards the window as he noticed the lack of rain noise. It had stopped raining, finally, he thought, itching to get outside. 

He stood, going to grab his jacket when his sock clad foot caught on something, sending him crashing to the floor. Skye lay stunned for a few moments, then rolled onto his back sitting up to assess the damage. 

“Again? That’s the third pair this month,” He mumbles, staring at the small rip starting on the left knee of his pants. No bleeding, this time at least.  
Sighing heavily, he gets up, brushes off, then continues on slipping on the worn-out sneakers and plain, grey, oversized hoodie he usually wears when going out. As he headed to the door, his pad and pencil caught his eye. Should he take them? He mused for a moment then walked to pick them up and out the door they went with him. 

Flipping up his hood, lest his head gets soaked from the rain that’s bound to come down sometime soon knowing the weather patterns, he headed up the muddy path that was the so-called driveway to his residence. He would rather not catch a cold; it would inconvenience him even further than sleep or pain, as he would feel the wrath of both as a result of said cold.  
His breaths came out as faint clouds of vapor, the air was notably cooler than inside his cabin, but not by much. He carried on up the path, soon his footsteps echoing wetly on the asphalt of the road. He sticks to as close to the natural ground as he can, making sure to avoid any puddles or potholes in his way. Where was he walking to? He wasn’t sure, he just enjoyed walking. 

A car, a rusty, dented old sedan in a plain beige color passed by, followed by a muddy maroon beater of a truck, spraying mini splatters and waves of water in their wake, none reaching Skye, for which he was grateful of.  
He carried on up the road, taking in his surroundings carefully so he could perhaps sketch them later, the pencil warm in his grip, though his fingers and knuckles were cool.  
As he neared the first of the buildings, he noticed a side path he didn’t recall seeing before. His feet stalled to a stop, staring hard at the path, it didn’t look new, but then again, he tended to zone out on his walks so it was plausible he missed it the last few times. 

Should he go down it? Should he carry on? Was it always there? A multitude of different questions flooded his mind. He brought his hand to his mouth and began to worry at the only finger not covered in colorful bandages. His teeth ground down on the skin, pressing deeper into it, the pressure barely felt as he was lost in thought. His pondering only brought to a stop once he realized he could taste a tangy, salty coppery taste in his mouth.  
As he pulled his hand away, a string of saliva broke, the bright red speckling of blood welling in the deep grooves his teeth left.  
“Ah,” He uttered, wiping his hand off on his sleeve before pulling a wrapped bandage from his jeans pocket. He covered the unsightly splotches of red with the now bright green and blue zigzag colored bandage and chuckled. He could go down the path another time. 

He carried on up into town, unaware of the faint figure that was observing him from the shadows down the path, relaxing and disappearing further off into the dense foliage lining the side of the path.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a really, really long time since I've written anything, so i honestly have no clue how exactly to start this or where to begin, so forgive me if the first few chapters suck or are a bit rough to get into. It'll mostly just be about Skye in the beginning before I get into any creepy fettuccine


End file.
